MODERN.

THE modern bridegroom led the modern bride to the altar. The modern clergyman was waiting for them with his

modern wedding ceremony.

"Will you," he said to the bridegroom, "take this divorced woman to be your social wife, to have and to hold until you are both tired of each other?"

"I will," said the groom, "with the understanding that she is not to kick up a row no matter who I bring home with me, and that she turns over all her available cash to help me out of my scrapes."

"And will you," said the clergyman to the woman, “take this man to be your companion in misery for so long as you think best?"

"I will," said the woman, "if I don't have to nurse him when he is sick, or take breakfast with him.”

"Is there anyone," said the clergyman, "who objects?" "No one," said the spokesman for the congregation. "We are all very glad of it. It makes gossip, and the mere fact that we are here will enable us to have our names in the papers. Let the ceremony proceed."

"There!" said the clergyman, "I pronounce you man and wife. Send me a check or cash by registered mail, give your names and a description of your presents to the society reporters, and when you want a divorce, here's the card of the best lawyer in the business."

DEPTH.

Beneath this marble slab there lies

A millionaire of enterprise.

How much he left I do not wis-
Nor just how far beneath he is.

哭

He sat in his nest with three brothers and sisters, his occupation being to conceal within his elastic person as many worms as came his way.

Being the brightest one of the family, he was regarded with marked favor by his hard working, lawn listening parents.

"Mama," he remarked one day, "when do you think it would be wise to venture forth into the unknown world?"

His mother eyed him critically.

"You must first," she remarked, "read 2 book on the theory and practice of aerostation."

"Is this necessary?" remarked the young robin, plaintively, as he observed his sister Jane, who was already being neglected, beginning to practice the double wing flap.

"It is, indeed," replied his mother, severely. "You have genuine talent, and you cannot expect to accomplish anything unless you consult authorities. Read eight pages a day."

So the young robin gave a supercilious

look at the rest of the family, put on a pair of spectacles and settled down to cultivate himself.

In a short time he became very much absorbed in his studies.

"I perceive," he remarked to himself, "that there is a good deal more to this flying business than I had any idea of. Indeed, it involves all of the ultimate problems of philosophy. First I must train my mind to think, then I must go over what is already known on the subject, after which I shall be in a position for original investigation."

So he studied on.

By and by, however, he became conscious of a hollow feeling inside. He also became aware that he had more space outside.

He looked up and found he was alone.

Brother Charlie was picking up a long worm on the lawn below. Sister Jane was practicing the Newport slant in the atmosphere between, while sister Sarah was trying to skip from bough to bough without missing a stroke. Pa and Ma were nowhere to be seen. But a monstrous cat on a rear fence was looking suspiciously complacent.

"I guess," said the young robin, "it is about time for me to get a move on. Let's see, in order to retain a sustained equilibrium I must consider Smith's law and also the resistance of certain ratios of density."

He paused fearfully and looked over the edge of the nest. "Hey, brother Charles," he called to his brother below. "How did you get down there?"

"Flew," said brother Charles calmly as he took a long pull, a strong pull and a pull together and drew out about a yard of dessert.

"But, brother Charles, didn't you read any of these books before you learned to fly?"

"Not much. No time."

"Say, brother, I'm getting very hungry. Couldn't you pass up a piece of that worm?"

Brother Charles sliced off a few inches with his bill and by getting a good moving start carried it to the flower of the family.

"My boy," he said, "let me give you a piece of advice. This is my last call. Do you want to enjoy yourself living?" "Yes, brother."

"Then learn to fly by flying, and not by reading about it. You'll take chances at first, but you'll get there."

"But aren't these books of any use at all?"

Brother Charles leaned up against the bark and smiled wisely.

"Certainly!" he observed. "Throw 'em at that cat."

MOTTO FOR A MARRIED MAN.

Be sure you are right, then keep it to yourself.

Every man is the architect of his own misfortunes.

A theatre party is a mistake; if the play is interesting, the people bore you; if the people are interesting, the play bores you.

THE END OF SMYTHE.

THE HE physical career of young Smythe began in the higher grammar school when he became interested in football, baseball and weight throwing.

This naturally and indubitably laid the foundation of his college career.

It became evident that the proper development of the serratus magnus, the obliquus externus abdomis, the pectoralis major and the biceps flexor cubiti, to say nothing of the deltoids and the gastrocnemius, were necessary to the highest honors.

At the end of four years he was upholstered with muscles far beyond all the others in his class.

But young Smythe was not satisfied, for about the time he left college and became an office boy he took to reading physical culture magazines.

This stimulated young Smythe's ambition to have a system of his own.

So he decided to try all the known methods of physical culture at once, in order to save time.

At the end of three years more, when the doctor was called in, he exclaimed in severely complimentary tones, "My! But he is perfect. No muscle neglected, from the occipito frontalis to tendo Achillis. Really the most perfectly developed man I ever saw."

"Then," said Smythe, as well as he could talk, which was only above a whisper, "what is the matter with me?"

The doctor, using his stethoscope gingerly, replied: "My dear boy, it's your vital organs-heart, lungs and so forth—they have gone to pieces."

But young Smythe was true to himself, even then. "My dear sir," he replied, as haughtily as possible, "that's not my fault. It's only because I couldn't get at 'em."